hey
by Andrea loves Cullens
Summary: sj


They ditch the others in Hogsmeade. Fred has gone off to the bookshop with Lys and Al and Frank and Alice say they're going shopping for music but they keep licking their lips and giving each other heated glances, so James whispers something to Amelie about Kinky Outdoor Sex and she laughs, and the sound of her clear, sweet voice ringing out into the spring air in peals of delighted laughter makes his world stop turning.

Does she know how absolutely fucking beautiful she is? Of course, she knows she's gorgeous, she's not the sort for false modesty, but nobody sees her like he does, not herself or Lys or her teachers or _anybody_. So he hooks his fingers through the loops at the top of her skirt and pulls her close to him for a hot, wet, lustful kiss.

She gives him a Look when they part, a Look of amusement and love and mild reproach and adoration and a million other things. "I thought we were shopping," she says, although she's pressing his hips against his and reaching her hand down to deliver a quick, sneaky pinch to his backside.

He grins back, nuzzling at her neck and loving the tickle of her hair against his face. "But this is so much more fun than shopping. What d'you want to buy, anyway?"

She shrugs her shoulders, and he can feel her smiling against his cheek.

"I need a new quill, and you know it. I despise Scorpius as much as anyone, but you could've tried to stab him to death with your own. And some chocolate frogs, I think... a new pair of gloves, mine are wearing through on the palms... condoms..."

She laughs again as his body jerks in surprise, and, ohgod, how badly does he want her right now? Correct answer: VERY.

"There are, uh, charms for that, you know."

She smiles at him, and suddenly all the blood in his body seems to have rushed to his groin... she notices, the smile widens, she presses insistently against him, the problem worsens... only it's not exactly a problem, because there's a devilish glint in her eye that tells him he's so going to get it...

"Oh, yes, so there are." And she kisses him, still smiling, still rubbing her hand across the back of his jeans; he kisses back hungrily, and he doesn't care that they're in the middle of the main road in Hogsmeade, he has to touch her more, he _needs_ it.

"C'mon." He links his fingers with hers to keep himself from putting them to work on the buttons of her blouse. For now, anyway...

And then the sky opens and it begins raining hard. It's been an unusually hot, wet spring (in more ways than one); the rain, although heavy, is cool and refreshing and OHGODOHFUCK, she's not wearing a bra under her shirt... that smile again, that smirking flash in her eyes, and she turns toward him ever so slightly so he can see the outline of her nipples getting ever more visible beneath the thin white cotton as the rain soaks through and makes it transparent. The drops in her hair cling there as long as possible; when they can no longer take their own weight, they stream down her face in tiny waterfalls. He kisses her again, saliva and rain mingling in their mouths, wiping the wet strands of hair off her forehead and letting his self-control drop just a fraction, just enough, so he can slide a hand beneath the hem of her blouse and stroke her back without feeling like _too_much of an exhibitionist, although at this point he wouldn't care if the headmaster and his Dad and the fucking _Queen_ were here, because this is more than lust, this is lust and _love_, and desire and need and want and perfection and happiness, and everything beautiful that there's ever been in the world is suddenly concentrated in this one girl, in _his_ girl.

He doesn't know when or why they start running, but they do. Feet clattering and slipping on the slick cobblestones, they fly down the road laughing like mad things, and when he sees the little path that runs through the park and the forest on the scenic route back to the castle, he tugs on her hand and pulls her down there to an even tinier pathway that runs between two of the walled gardens, out of sight, away from other people's eyes. He's not a jealous person, he's too secure in the knowledge that she loves him back with equal intensity to ever be jealous, but right now for these wonderful cool wet few minutes she is his and his alone.

Hands fly over soaking clothes, tearing at buttons and pulling at zips impatiently, far too eager to bother with stripping fully. Her shirt hangs loose around her shoulders and he presses his fingers into the skin at her waist, holding her tight as he draws first one nipple then the other into his mouth, laving them with his tongue and nibbling gently, kissing and licking and loving, and she shoves his trousers and boxers down around his ankles, stroking his hardness to near-agony. He gasps when she stops, but since it's only so she can hoist her skirt above her waist and pull down her knickers, he really doesn't mind. He speaks the charm, then throws aside his wand and strokes his fingers through the dark curls between her legs, pressing deeper and rubbing faster until he finds wetness that isn't rainwater, although it's all the same now, the sheen on their skin is rain and sweat and the wet on his hand is rain and Amelie; he puts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, not knowing why this makes her moan although he knows why it's making _him_ moan, then lifts her against the wall and pulls her down onto his cock, sheathing himself in her hotness and crying her name in a low voice against her shoulder. She wraps her legs around his waist and they move together, sex and hands and lips, tongues, so much fucking _love_, it's going to make his heart explode as well as _that_.

And, ohgod, the noises she makes when she's about to come are worth the entire known universe and more. The breathy moans, the panting, the way the gasps become cries and she _tells_ him, that's what's so fucking Hot, when she cries his name and tells him she's nearly there, as if he can't tell by the wet and the scratching fingernails and _those sounds she makes_. Moving faster now, because it's still love, of course, but they can have love with their clothes on, and right now here in this little deserted park in Hogsmeade where anybody could walk past, where somebody would see them if they folded back the curtain in the bedroom of a nearby house, it's just burning passion and want and reaching climax almost simultaneously, holding her tight, kissing her lips roughly, swallowing her screams and letting her swallow his.

It's a different smile now. She's glowing because of something _other_ than the rain. Her cheeks are flushed and her smiling lips kiss-swollen and he wants to want her again because she looks and _feels_ so deliciously wanton there in his arms, still clenching spasmodically around his cock as she comes down from her orgasm - but he can't. The rain is stopping and the moment's over. Of course, there'll be more moments, but this one is finished and right now he just wants to hug her for a while.

The chocolate frogs have waited this long. Surely they won't mind a few minutes more?

**end.**


End file.
